


The Mind Palace Murders

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little mystery, Gen, a little murder, biscuits and tea and thee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: There's murder. There's the Mind Palace. There's not much there, there or is there?





	The Mind Palace Murders

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short one shot that crawled out of my wee brain. Hope you like it.

Sherlock comes to consciousness in a familiar place. A place of comfort and security, but there is no illumination. The Mind Palace is set in twilight.

Attempting to remember what has happened. Lifting himself to his elbows from the marble floor. The last thing he remembers is boredom. The criminal element was on hiatus and he was going bat shite crazy from being bored. 

He remembers. There was a series of explosions. Not terrorists, even worse, opportunists seeking to ransom the governments of the world, your-money-or-your-lives thieves without consciences. Robbery on a global scale. 

Mycroft had been adamant that he and John join in the local investigations. As there had been several ‘attempted’ bombings which had been sussed out before they blew. Thwarting their attacks on London.

[Why was he in his Mind Palace. This wasn’t a safe haven, it was a storage space and contemplative temple?] Sherlock stood with difficulty.

“Lights.” He commanded with assurance that his demand would be answered. Weakly the lighting improved. “Lights on, full force!” Sherlock said into the gloom. Again the increments were not as he had dictated.

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson’s voice penetrated the rooms with a slight echoing coming from many directions. Her voice almost a whisper. Her tone beseeching and soothing all at once.

“Mrs. Hudson? Martha?”

Sherlock hardly ever brought auxiliary personas into the Mind Palace. There was only ever one presence here. 

“John? John, what has transpired?”

There is a rumbling sound and the earth tremors slightly. Sherlock closes his eyes and concentrates. He has to get a grip on the situation. The Mind Palace is his place. Unless this is not his Mind Palace?

How could that even happen? Think. What happened? Where had he been? John had found some leads that petered out. He’d sent John back to Baker Street to get something. 

Sherlock extended his right hand over his head and snapped his fingers. Illumination appeared at the tips of his fingers. Lighting up the alcove he stood in for moments. This wasn’t his Mind Palace. It had similar elements, yet the overall look and feel were ever so slightly different.

John had called him asking where he was, as he had moved from his prior position.

“You mad git, I told you to stay put. I’m coming to you. Don’t go any further without me.” John had demanded.

Sherlock snapped his fingers again. This time concentrating on keeping the light at the end of his fingers lit. The illumination stays. Haltingly, he moves into the interior of the building. He watches closely for any indication that he is not alone. No one comes forward. Where his Palace is constantly in a state of flux. This Palace seems dormant and devoid of normal activity. 

Sherlock breathes in the scent of the place. It smells of disuse, desiccated and...with a hint of murder. The scent of blood lingers to the discerning nose of Sherlock Holmes.

A body is ahead. At first glance Sherlock’s heart skips a beat. The form looks familiar. Kneeling he pushes the body onto its back. Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief. It isn’t Lestrade, but a man of similar height, wight and hair color. This man died violently. He’d fought valiantly, but his attackers had been many and he succumbed to their numbers.

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson’s whispered voice sounds close. Sherlock stands immediately and moves swiftly towards the sound.

“Martha. Speak again so I can find you.” Another body lies in his path. An older woman dressed all in purple. “No.” Sherlock speaks in agony. Kneeling, he sees that this isn’t Martha. Very similar, but not her. Her throat has been cut. Blood everywhere. The naked blade lay next to her head. 

Sherlock stays kneeling at the side of this poor unfortunate woman’s body. Slowly he stands. 

“I’ll not play your game anymore.” He says with venom. Sherlock lowers his hand allowing the light to fade. “This is my Mind Palace. No matter that you’ve corrupted it to your sick purposes.” Sherlock gestures, his right hand crossing in front of him. The light comes up, illuminating everything.

There in what used to be shadows, lingers Moriarty. 

“You bastard. I thought I caged you long ago.” Sherlock admonishes his ‘viral’ enemy.

Moriarty smiles the smile of a monster, his dark eyes are pitiless pits of evil alchemy. “Sherlock, so nice to see you and to be seen. It’s been an age hasn’t it?”

The image of his dead arch enemy makes no move, only slithers down to sit upon the floor. “It gets so lonely in the padded cell. You never come to visit anymore. You’re too busy now. What with John.”

“Don’t speak his name.” Sherlock commands in a voice of rage. 

Moriarty cowers into a smaller space. “Ah, but it was fun for just that moment. When you didn’t know where you were. It was so nice to make murder, just for you.” The chains that bind him are in place. Heavy and cumbersome, they draw him down into the floor. His essence will sink to the lower catacombs of the Mind Palace. There to be the only captive of this ever imposing edifice.

Sherlock turns slowly putting his Mind Palace to rights again. And there in the wing that leads to the main hall, John stands. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here all along.” He says matter-of-factly. 

“Why didn’t you let me know you were here? What is going on?” Sherlock is definitely perturbed.

“You’re in shock, my dear. We don’t want to do anything too quickly. Besides, I knew you’d figure it out. Mrs. Hudson is holding you right now. I’m standing near. We are waiting for you to come round. We caught the your-money-or-your-life gang. They were a hand full. I’d never have let him get out of control. I would always be here to rescue your arse.”

John smiles one of his radiant smiles. Sherlock can’t help but smile his ‘little boy’ smile back.

“Was I badly hurt, John?”

“Blown out of your socks. Mostly caught in the concussion blast. You’ll be fine. Now you have to make your way back to us. We’re all waiting for you, love.”

)-_-(

Sherlock opens his eyes. He’s on the couch. His head is nestled in Mrs. Hudson’s lap. She has a damp cloth that she is gently wiping his face with.

“Martha.” Sherlock smile his broadest loving smile.

“There’s my best boy.” She beams.

Sherlock makes to get up and both John and Martha hold him down. 

“You’ve no concussion or broken bones, we’ve checked. You were blown up into the air and came down pretty hard. You WILL be taking it easy for the next few days, at least. I’ll see about a cup of tea for you.”

“Don’t forget some biscuits.” Mrs. Hudson calls to John. 

“Honey Almond or Butternut?” John asks.

“Both, please.” Sherlock calls out.

“Well, at least your appetites improved. Being blown up will do that for you.” Mrs. Hudson laughs.

“It surely will.” Sherlock takes one of her hands and kisses it.


End file.
